I
n the fashion of royal suitors for the last five hundred years, Magpie laid out his gifts on a piece of glorious, embroidered silk on the gleaming mosaic floor of the princess’s receiving room, under the disapproving eye of his fiancée, if indeed Inbecca, princess and heir to the throne of the Mother’s Avatar on Alada, still was inclined to retain that title. He had been in that room many times over his life, but never before as a supplicant. He was aware of how well it had been designed to impress the eye of the appellants who entered, hoping for the princess’s favor. The walls had been cut from sheets of agate striped brown and white, an echo of the image of a tiger, the mascot of the country of Levrenn. Patterns of pearls and semiprecious stones had been inlaid into the wall in fantastic designs that complemented the natural beauty of the stone. The pillars that held up the ceiling had a frieze of tigers’ heads
with bright gold eyes all the way around. Magpie felt that they were glaring at him.
A quartet of court ladies, Inbecca’s trusted friends and advisers, stood on either side of the room’s two windows, as motionless as the chestnut-colored damask curtains that hung well apart, allowing in the brilliant mountain sunshine. The weather was almost unbearably hot, except in this room, where the chill was virtually wintry, or at least so he perceived. Nevertheless, he perservered, until he had everything arranged in a manner that even he had to admit was appealing. He looked up at Inbecca, standing at some distance from him, as enchanted as ever by her beauty. Where Magpie’s skin was bronze, hers was silver. Her eyes were as blue as the faraway sea, and her hair, tied in three thick braids with silver bells on the ribbons, had the richness of cherry wood. Her white silk robes were embroidered with the images of tigers, and a huge tiger’s eye gem adorned her silver belt. Her arms were crossed over her chest.
He did not find this to be a good sign.
“Did I ever tell you you look like the Pearl?” he said.
“And that is your apology, for going without contact for three entire months?” Inbecca said, frowning down at him. “Pretending you are a peddler and placing your goods as though I might want to buy something, such as a slightly used fiancé?” She passed by the clock, made with loving care by the wolf-kind of the south continent, who had a talent for mechanics; the tightly woven linen cloth nearly as transparent as glass that came from the Quarters; dwarf-made, decorated sweets that melted in the mouth, packaged in an exquisite carved stone box; even the lovely wedding necklace of delicately wrought gold from the centaur jewelers in Balierenn.
She looked bored, but Magpie had known her since they were children. She liked the presents, but she was pretending to disdain them to punish him. Still, she would have to be blind not to be impressed. These were the finest goods Magpie could find throughout Niombra. Inbecca touched the silver-and-enamel figurine standing at the end of the cloth with her toe. “That is rather pretty. Elvish work, is it not? How did you get
that?
”
“A favor from an elf marcher,” Magpie explained, pleased. “The work of his favorite craftsman, a sculptor named Zimbro. He liked the songs that I sang to his ladylove. Said they were almost nondiscordant, for a human.”
Inbecca’s red lips gathered in an amused smirk. “He’s right. You can almost sing. No, I tell a lie,” she said, putting her nose up. “Your voice is the truest thing about you. It’s certainly truer than your heart. Just when you ought to be here, wooing me with all your wits, you are riding around on that odd-colored horse of yours.”
“Don’t mock Tessera,” Magpie said plaintively. “She’s a good friend.”
“I think perhaps I am jealous,” Inbecca said, with a toss of her head that set her plaits jingling. “Since you would rather spend all your days with her, instead of me. If you gave her to me, I might actually believe you love me.”
Magpie threw himself to the ground, stretching out his hands to her. “Take her, my heart. Take anything I have, if only you will forgive me.”
Inbecca stepped in between his hands, her dainty slippers only inches from his nose. “I don’t know whether I should. No offense offered, but I am not at all certain that I want to be tied to a dilettante, however ancient your lineage, in a creaking old kingdom that rumor has it is staggering toward ruin.”
“It is not,” Magpie protested, stung. He felt his face grow hot. How humiliated his father would be if he had heard that. She must indeed be angry to throw that in his face. “And I am no dilettante. I study hard at whatever I take seriously!”
Inbecca turned up her nose to look down it at him. “That’s the trouble, isn’t it? You don’t seem to take any of the important things seriously. I do. I have been speaking with my aunt Sharhava. She wants me to join the Scholardom.”
Magpie suppressed a groan. Sharhava, abbess of the Knights of the Word, had always struck him as far too serious. If she had ever shown any humanity, her stony demeanor would probably crack in two. Since their childhood she had been the rain shower that put out the bonfire of cheer, swooping down on them and their siblings, insisting that royal children did not amuse themselves like commoners. She had never liked Magpie, in either of his names. She was a further peril at this time, the very person from whom he must conceal the reason for his long absence. He picked himself up and pretended to dust down his clothing.
“You wouldn’t throw away your realm for the sake of a group of misdirected wayfarers instead of marrying me,” Magpie said casually. “Your mother has other daughters, but I know she is confident that you will be the best choice for queen after she departs.”
“I don’t know whether I want to do either,” Inbecca said. “Neither of
you offers me much in the way of blandishments, apart from trinkets.” She put out her toe again and tipped the little statuette over. Magpie winced as it fell. It didn’t break, which he took as a good sign. She went to stare out of the window. “I have been acting as Mother’s proxy lately in several important matters. Statecraft leaves me little time for my own thoughts. I wonder whether I have time for a consort, or serious study outside my duties.” She glanced at him, then engaged in a close study of her tiger’s-eye bracelet. “Just because you have come back doesn’t mean that I’m going to forget that you left. I am not a nymph you can trifle with and disappear from again. Perhaps if you reminded me why you think I should marry you I might take it under advisement. It would require many consultations with my ministers, but I believe that at least they have my best interests at heart.”
Magpie took that as a softening of her fury, and cast himself on his knees at her side. “Beautiful lady, constant moon, I’ve loved you since the day we met.”
“And you gave me an insect as a gift,” Inbecca reminded him loftily. He was surprised. “Are you still upset about that? It was a very rare bug, and I thought it was very beautiful, with those shimmery green wings and cobalt-blue eyes. It was magical, too. It could disappear and reappear.”
“Well, it
was
magical,” Inbecca acknowledged, “but it made me scream.”
“That’s right,” Magpie remembered. “You hurt
my
feelings, and I know you hurt his.”
Inbecca finally met his eyes. “I thought you were trying to torment me.”
“Oh, of course,” Magpie said lightly. “I thought it was more fun to upset you than please you. I was a little boy then.” He did love her so, but letting anyone, even her, see the depth of emotion he felt for her was difficult for him.
“And you call yourself a man now, do you? Everyone thinks you’re quite useless, the way you flit off from time to time, for no reason.”
“I just go where fancy takes me,” Magpie said. “The world is a fascinating place, you might learn if you ever set foot outside the walls for any reason other than official business.”
“My brother says you’re a fop. You don’t deserve to be named after a hero like Eremilandur. He defeated a hundred knights. He killed the sorceror of Zirkali and freed the werewolves from their slavery.”
“I …” Magpie began to protest. He was keenly aware that others had always made comparisons between the noted exploits of his famous warrior ancestor and the significant nothing that he had seemed to accomplish. In the meantime he had bred and broken champion horses, mediated disputes in his father’s kingdom, played sports as well as he played his jitar, and prided himself on reading and understanding the books of history and philosophy that were allowed to gather dust in his father’s library, as well as risking his life to spy during the war and go on missions on behalf of people he believed in, such as Master Olen, but he would rather die under torture than have to defend himself. Let them all think what they liked. He snorted disdainfully. “Perhaps he’s right.”
Inbecca looked cross not to have gotten a rise out of him with her taunt. “And you are so much unlike your brother Benarelidur. He’s steady.”
Magpie sighed deeply. “He’s dull.”
“How right you are,” Inbecca said, merriment lighting her eyes and bringing out the mischievious touch of green in them. “I think it’s a great pity that such a serious young man will be king. You would be much more interesting.”
“Oh, no. Orontae would rise up in open revolt if I took the throne. Ganidur would make a better job of it than I. I greatly prefer the honor of being consort to Levrenn’s future queen. If she would have me.” He reached up to take her hand. Her expression turned from playful to tender. Magpie looked into her eyes and took a deep breath, summoning all the skill with words he had.
“Well, that’s the way you ought to be, you irreverent pup, on your knees. No, don’t get up. I like to see you that way.” Sharhava, sister to the queen, strode into the room, her heavy blue robes swishing noisily around her legs like courtiers whispering. In her wake came two young men and a young woman dressed in livery of the same color. She was only a year younger than Queen Kaythira, but she seemed of another generation. She always wore an expression of deepest disapproval. “May I make you known to Lar Pedros, Lar Thyre, and Lar Colruba?”
“What is
she
doing here?” Magpie groaned.
Inbecca dropped his hand and went to kiss her aunt on the cheek. When she looked down upon him, the hauteur had returned.
“She’s here so I have a witness that you showed proper atonement, and that you made me a promise. It’s not because we are sister and brother princes that I accepted your word that we would marry.”
“And we shall,” Magpie assured her. She did intend to punish him.
Ah, well, he ought to be used by now to people mistrusting him, even Inbecca. “It’s always been my dream that you would be my bride. If you will accept me, I would be the happiest man in the world. I will serve at your side or at your feet, whatever you choose.”
“I want more assurance than that,” Inbecca said. “We’re old friends! I thought, after the war was over, that you would stay home for good. I was ready to give you my troth more than a year ago. I trusted you to be here at my side.” Tears made her eyes bright. “Why couldn’t you stay? Why didn’t you send me word of where you were? During the war I thought you had been lost, time and again, when you disappeared off to who knows where? I suppose you’re not going to tell me about where you have been all this time, are you? As an old friend, can’t you confide in me?” She leaned toward him in appeal.
“I …” Magpie wanted so dearly to give her all the details of the great conference at Silvertree, but with Abbess Sharhava hanging there at her shoulder and her acolytes hovering near the door, avid to hear every word, he could not. “No, my dear, dear lady.” Magpie bowed his head, not able to meet her eyes. Olen had been afraid to involve the Scholardom in the search for the book. Quite rightly, if they were all vultures like her. Mother and Father alone could predict what she would do if she got a scent of what he knew. “I went on a mission on my father’s behalf. There is more going on than I can tell you at present. I’ve been asked to keep confidence.”
“Is that all you can say? You would dare to put me off with a vague statement like that?” Inbecca’s eyes filled with tears. She marched over to the window. Sharhava followed and put an arm around the girl’s waist.
“There, child, do you see? Secular bonds do nothing to salve your soul. Throw them off. Join us. You can help to remake the world in excellence by aiding our search. You will get no true fulfillment in a pairing with an unworthy suitor like him. I see power in you, and strength of mind. You’re a scholar with the heart of a warrior, the very embodiment of what it means to be a Knight.”
Magpie could see that Inbecca was wavering. He had no intention of letting Sharhava talk her into such a foolish undertaking while she was feeling vulnerable.
“Unworthy?” Magpie demanded, rising majestically to his feet, and staring down his long nose at her. The effect, he knew, was somewhat marred by his tricolored hair. “You dare to call me unworthy? I am a prince of Orontae, of a pedigree longer than the River Arown!”
Sharhava eyed him. “Perhaps you are not totally without merit. At least you can keep secrets when you’re bidden. You, too, would do well to undertake a serious occupation and stop wasting your life. I could find a place in the order for you, too. We will need every able body and willing heart.” She looked him up and down. “We are less concerned about feeble minds. And that hair. It makes you look like a calico cat.”